I've been a people pleasing perfectionist for as long as I can remember. Making others happy felt like my job as a kid and in all of my relationships. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't make people happy and I felt not good enough. Now I rarely try at what I do because I know nothing is perfect and if it's not perfect it's not good enough.

Sometimes I just snort meth in my room with the door closed. Then my home surroundings can be nearly perfect. All the clothes are hung up and folded, the bathroom is clean, the bed is perfectly made and the "To Do List" is written. I've stayed in the place for a year now and managed to work part time and maintain some connections when I don't recluse to my bedroom and shut the door.

I want help, but I put constituents on what help I want to accept. I fear loss more than anything and I fear rejection. I want to be free, but sometimes this place all alone is comfy. Sometimes this place all alone is the loneliest self dug pit and I summon up the courage to reach out, but then a week or two later I'm snorting lines again and the cycle continues.

What is wrong with me.